Trespassers
by Pchan712
Summary: Heaven is at war with hell. Yet, what happens when an innocent angel and a demon warrior decide to fall in love?  Yes, lemons will be provided
1. Chapter 1

Another tear slipped down the wet path her other tears had already painted down her cheeks. She drew in another breath of air and held it behind lips pursed so tightly they were white. Her muscles tensed until the soft cords of her tendons stood out. She was in so much pain...  
>How long did she have to endure this torture? How long had she already been tangled up in this trap? Minutes, hours, <em>days<em>?

Orihime uncurled her fingers from around her injured leg. With trembling fingers she touched the metal cord wrapped around her ankle. A massive electric jolt passed through her system. Heat exploded inside her nerves. The girl's body writhed on the ground in complete, pure, and undiluted agony. Her two wings straitened from her back. Her feathers twitched and ruffled as the spasm passed through the massive appendages. The angel clawed her fingers into the soil and whimpered miserably. Another electric jolt shot through her system, mangling her efforts of self control. A high pitched scream flew from her lips and for a minute she forgot about trying not to be found. What did silence matter anymore? These traps had alarms in them. As soon as she had fallen victim to this contraption, heaven's enemies would have been undoubtedly notified. Demons had to be running up from the darkness to claim her by now.

Why wasn't she been more careful? Orihime had been warned that the demons set these kinds of traps. But had she been paying attention? No of course not. She had just been daydreaming about red bean paste again. Down here on earth, the forest leaves were a beautiful orange and red color. She just couldn't help but be reminded of the delicious meal. Even though she had flown down from heaven to see the autumn colors she still found herself thinking about her dinner. _Baka…_ But it had still been such a lovely day. Her blue summer dress flowed around her thighs as she had walked through the woods. Her wings had been folded nicely into her back making her look like an ordinary human. It was a precaution incase she met any hikers. Her long auburn hair kept getting caught in the feathers though. She brushed it over her shoulder where it hung at her waist. She really should have tied it back today. That slight and meaningless annoyance was her last thought before _that_ happened. Her petite foot fell onto the next place of her path and she heard a metallic click. Orihime froze. No way. That couldn't be... had she stepped on a...on a demon's trap? They set mines in forests and mountains where flying was difficult for angels. They weren't always the human kind where they simply exploded. Where was the sport in that? Demons notoriously wanted to collect their prizes alive. They could use them as prisoners of war for the fight between heaven and hell. Or just to have the pleasure of killing them with their bare hands.

Orihime debated with herself. Right now, it was only her body weight holding this trigger down. If she flew fast enough, she could be out of range of the mine before it activated. She shoulders rolled forward and she sunk into a ready stance. Carefully, she unfolded her bird-like wings from her back. She stretched the white appendages from her body, letting them hang suspended. One, two, three... _now_!

She leapt up into the air. The mine clicked back into place but she was already far above it. The canopy of the forest loomed closer with the speed of her flight. _Yes! I did it, I'm free-!_

Then, a heated metal chain shot out of the patch of leaves. It circled around her ankle faster than she could blink. An electrical shock zapped through her core. Her wings folded in midair and she plummeted back to the ground. Orihime banged her head against the forest floor. Sticks and bark starched her scalp. Underneath her lithe frame, she could hear the sharp snap of one of her wings twisting painfully. But that pain was nothing compared to the jolts of energy berating her senseless.

And so she lay there on the dirt ground waiting for her demise. The beautiful angel turned her head when noises pushed their way the brush of the terrain. They sounded like footsteps. She tried to sit up but the burning in her body refused to grant her such luxuries. Orihime listened as the parade of sounds drew closer. Was that a human? She doubted one would be able to undo this hideous mechanism. A human would be of little help to her now. Her breath came out in unsteady puffs and her hands were shaking. The footsteps were singular. It sounded only like one being, but with the way branches were snapping, he had to be unnaturally strong. The approaching person was too powerful to be human. The angel smiled shakily and chuckled to herself. Thank goodness it wasn't a human! She didn't want any to be around if the demons came. A single demon could easily wipe out a small human militia with ease. No one should get hurt because of her.

_Oh wait, if that wasn't a human then it's probably a demon, right?_ Orihime could just see it now: tall, dressed in black, and carrying a wicked smile bent on making her suffer.

The bushes rustled on the other side if the path. The little angel just lay there helplessly. Ever so slowly, a full-fledged demon emerged from the thicket like a shadow. Orihime stared. Elongated bull horns sprouted from his head. Light breaking through the canopy illuminated his mask. Orihime instantly recognized it as the demon clan's bone warrior mask. It covered his entire face in a wall of white and red decorative war celebration. Maybe the red stripes weren't paint: maybe they were the blood of angels. Black sclera surrounded yellow irises in those eyes of his. They echoed a palpable feeling of danger.

Dropping into shock over the demon's appearance caused her precious guard to drop. Another mechanical shock of demonic energy pierced through her. The angel's back arched against the ground. White lights danced in front of her eyes. Her jaw clenched together and a strangled moan echoed out of her throat-"Make it stop! Save me, oh please _save me_!"

The demon jumped forward. As Orihime faded into her unconsciousness, all she saw was the color orange. It was not the leaves though: it was the color of the demon's hair.

(((((-))))

When Kurosaki Ichigo emerged from the woods into the cleared path all he saw at first was the angel. She was lying on her side, arms and legs tucked into her center. White wings stretched from her back. One was at an unnatural angle. He winced behind his mask at the mangled sight of it; he could only imagine it was like breaking an arm. The angel's gaze swept over him, inhaling his appearance. They grew large and her mouth parted incredulously. Then, they locked eyes. He parted the bushes before him but kept out of the open space. She moved her arms beneath her in a sad attempt to push herself up. Long hair fell over her shoulders like auburn liquid. He was pelted with a sudden and alien longing to tie threads of it around his hands.

The metal coils at her leg made a sharp noise. Sparks emitted from the foreign binding and he could visibly see a jolt pulsing into her. The angel threw her head back and a wail pealed out from perfectly sculpted lips, "Save me, oh please _save me_!"

Ichigo snapped out of it. Out of what, he wasn't quite sure, but now wasn't the time to think of that. He shoved aside a branch and leapt forward. The angel's brown doe eyes widened by a fraction then rolled back in her head. She slumped lifelessly to the ground.

"Shit!" he roared. She didn't just die. This angel couldn't have...not when he just got here...

Ichigo shoved his hands into the scattering of oak leaves surrounding her. Dirt and soil flew out as he dug into the ground. The demon's hand suddenly brushed against a buried portion of the vile cord. A spear of agony shot through his body. The man's muscles shuddered and his breath emptied out of his lungs. The force was enough to knock him back a foot. Ichigo recoiled and stared in disbelief. Shock rushed through his veins and a wave of dizziness flooded him. What the hell was this? Snare traps weren't always like this were they? They were just supposed to hold the prey in place, not torture them!

The angel at his knees remained motionless. It didn't look like she was breathing either. Ichigo cupped a hand to the underside of his mask and pulled it away. The bone particles dispersed into the air and faded. _I can barely breathe with that damn thing on sometimes. _The demon plunged his hands into the hole of cold soil again. The switch, where was it? The base of the mechanism had a release, if only he could find it!

The demon dug with a fury he only reserved for battle. He would glance at the beautiful angel every so often in something like an involuntary reflex. Shocks from the mechanism would stun him then he'd be back at it. At last, his claws scratched a flat metal surface. Before he could break and relish in the discovery, he yanked the box from the earth. The underground wiring uprooted in a straight line to the angel. Ichigo flipped the contraption on its side, and before he could stop to think properly, smashed a closed fist through the hull. The whirring noise stopped and the air became dead silent. Ichigo huffed and sat back on his haunches. He looked at the ground. _I feel sick..._

When the wave of nausea passed, he turned his head slowly to the side. The angel never left her fallen position. Her eyes were closed but now that the struggle was over he could hear her shallow breaths. So she _was_ alive. A sigh of relief passed through his lips.

Ichigo sat back on his haunches and wiped the sweat from his exaggeratedly furrowed brow. He really didn't want to look at the wreckage he had caused his clan's equipment. The scattering of shattered iron and wires over the ground could be seen just fine with his peripheral vision. Jeez, he acted on impulse again. But it was not like had a choice! The cruelty of this trap was on par with the act of strangling a kitten!

A string of curses stained his tongue as he muttered everything he knew. The man took a long fingered hand and rubbed the nape of his neck. His job was only half done. Ichigo remembered the mission clearly: come up to the World of the Living, find the angel that had triggered the alarm, and bring the wretched thing back down to hell. Normally he was sent to fight the warrior class of angels whose armies surged like the tide against their defenses. _This_ job was a crude waste of his skills. He could travel fast and make critical decisions in battle. He had the strength to level and defeat those of the higher classes. Yet orders were orders, especially when they came directly from the top. The redhead had expected to find a burly, fierce, and brutal angel. All of angels Ichigo had ever seen were of the soldier types. Warriors like him. Warriors who could withstand pain and relish in it.

Not what he found instead.

Ichigo moved closer to the sleeping stranger. He considered replacing the mask of his title over his face, but decided against it. There was a time and place for everything; the need to install fear was simply inappropriate now.

His hand hovered over her body. He was able to hear her pulse; there was no other reason for him to be touching her. No reason other than the _want_ to touch her. Ichigo froze at that conclusion. He then pulled it back as though the limb had been caught by the teeth of fire.

At his knees, the angel breathed steadily. He had been so consumed in saving her that he hadn't paid any real attention to her. Long lashes fanned impossibly smooth cheeks. Her hair was almost a striking a color as his, if not a few shades darker. Blue barrettes on either side of her temple shined like the sky. What color were her eyes? He couldn't remember, damn it. And that body! The hard surface of the ground elevated her natural curves. She was flying temptation to a level even demons couldn't succeed. _Idiot, don't think like that!_

So instead, he focused on her injuries. He counted three obvious ones at a glance: Her broken wing, her bleeding temple, and the burn on her ankle. She wouldn't be walking or flying for a while at least. He growled not unlike that of a beast. Why didn't he carry bandages with him? Was that because he was always the attacker, rather than the savior?

Ichigo closed his brown eyes. Damn this confusing situation...

Helplessness eroded his thinking process. He wanted to be busy doing something for her, not just sit around whining at what he couldn't do. If Ichigo didn't carry supplies with him then he'd just carry her to where there were such necessities. He changed his position again. Ichigo slid a calloused hand under her. The web of his finger snagged in the collar of her shirt. The fearsome demon pulled his arm back with a shout that shook nearby birds from their perches. Jeez, his hand almost touched…his hand almost went down…_there_…

Ichigo combed a clawed hand through his hair. This should be simple: a man carrying a woman. Happened all the time to humans, right? Damn it, why was he so heated?

Ichigo's private mortification suddenly found a different route. How could he have just tried to pick her up without thinking? She was injured, damn it! How could he be sure that if he picked her up, her mangled wing wouldn't move the wrong way and worsen? How the hell was this going to work out?

Ichigo stepped over her to inspect the status of her broken limb.

The wing stood out at a sharp angle. It attached to her shoulders in a weird blend of porcelain skin and white feathers. Downy soft fluffs ruffled at the bases of her shoulder blades. They looked like the tufts that baby chicks were clothed in. But the further along the wing, the larger and sharper the feathers became until they were nearly as long as his arm.  
>Some of these feathers stood out in disarray like broken spokes of a hand fan. That must have been where the break was.<p>

Ichigo probed the roots, trying to find sharp edges of bone. Suddenly his hard face softened. The frown thinned and he released a stream if breath he had kept entrapped in his chest. Her wing wasn't broken! The angel's wing had just popped it out of the socket. Painful, yes, but permanent, no. This would be an easy fix.

The demon, Ichigo, steeled his resolve. Very carefully he entwined a steady grip on an outer branch of the wing. He flinched but held on. The warrior didn't know that she would be as soft as a baby rabbit. It unsettled him that he liked it so much, as if he was already planning other ways to hold her in the future. Ichigo shook his head to keep any and all thoughts at bay. Somehow the giddiness of finding out her injuries were not as severe as he had first thought made him relax a little too much. _She's still hurt you idiot..._

Ichigo refurnished his grip. He reached over and secured her shoulder. He counted to three, lost his nerve, and then started again. On the last count the demon pushed and lifted. An audible pop filled the clearing. The tiny female angel slept on, expending only the faintest of sighs when the task was complete.

Ichigo could be found across the clearing trying to clear his head. On all fours, he wheezed and panted. It was not as if the action had sucked away his strength. The emotional toll on him cut into his precious reserves. He bowed his head until shadows masked his eyes. It had been easy to fix that for her so why was he responding like this? Why was he getting so emotional? Was it because she was hurt? Was it because helping her had been as easy as it was to freakin' break her?

Ichigo looked to his side. Parallel to his was the girl, this _stranger_ who elicited such responses from him. Was she breakable? No. She was vulnerable, yes, and lustfully so. Yet her defenselessness was not without a second thought to it. The electrical shocks had been enough to render even him temporarily immobile. As far as he knew, the alert for her entrapment had been activated over two hours ago. To be unconscious from exhaustion was something short of a miracle given that anyone else would have died long before. The only reason she was still here was because she was stronger than most. Not as if Ichigo was slow to come, but rather the snare's owner was late in giving an order for him to go and retrieve. _Bastard,_ Ichigo internally thundered. He was amazed by the raw anger that pulsed through him. The mere thought of anyone hurting this girl out of simple disregard was reason enough to refuse anything short of a beating.

She had held out for _all that time_. She didn't deserve it. Ichigo stood up. A new determination upheld his gaze. He walked over to her. Again he knelt at her side the way he'd seen humans paint images of prayers to angels. Ichigo gently wedged his arm underneath her body's upper half. The dark being elevated the girl and her head fell back. Brown hair flowed like silk. Not wanting her to strain her neck, he hurriedly tucked it between his chin and sternum. Ichigo was just reaching for the angel's knees when the woman suddenly stirred. He jumped. Damn. He really did wake her. And what a friggin' position to be in too: with her practically on his lap!

"Hmm," her lips fluttered against his neck. Hot breath spilled like bathwater over his skin.

"U-um, hey, listen I wasn't going to do anything! I just—" He gasped as her thin arms floated up around his neck. Those infamous mounds squished into his hard frame. The angel's perfect face nuzzled in the bend beneath his sturdy jaw line. Her limbs once again relaxed against his. Ichigo's collar suddenly felt too tight.

He responded by hugging her tighter. The warrior drew himself to shaky feet. He began walking in a different direction than from which he came. As he did, the strange thought came to him that the package in his arms was probably the most precious cargo he had ever carried.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The first thing she failed to understand about her situation was why she had slept in such an unnatural position. Strange. She must have been extremely tired to pass out on her front like that. Most likely, she fell asleep standing up and gravity took its course. Silly chest...

Then, all her memories flooded back instantly. Her eyes shot as open and as round as dinner plates. The trap, the torture, the demon... And what then? What happened after? What had happened in the blank margins between then and now?!

The angel opened her eyes. Shadows flickered between the mortars of a stone wall she faced. The rounded pieces fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. She was in a room somewhere. That would explain the lack of breeze. The light source (a candle?) was so dim that she could barely make out the color or geology of the stone. Orihime lay atop a rickety wooden cot. The straw padded mattress curled an outline of her body. Loosely woven ropes no doubt supported the simple surface.

Ever so carefully, she sat up. Suddenly, a flash of tiredness bloomed in her physical body. The effort of holding her head up was the equivalent of dragging a beached whale back into the ocean. The angel fell back onto the bed with a little "Oomph!"

Her eyes fluttered and she gasped for air. The angel rolled onto her back. The move caused a wave of dizziness to erode her system. Orihime tried again to push herself up, maybe move her knees to leverage herself too. Nothing. She just fell the precious few inches of lift onto her face again. What was happening to her? Her mind was working just fine (with the occasional relapse into thinking about red bean paste) but her body was ridiculously weak. Did that trap from before have anything to do with what happened?

_Stay calm. Don't fight it. Deep breaths. Just take a nice, deep breath. This is just some after-exertion soreness._ One always felt fatigued after hard physical labor. She really had been struggling for hours, hadn't she? The burns she acquired were probably not helping either.

Now she noticed it. Her leg felt different than from how an untreated burn should feel. Orihime was supposed to feel a lingering sting. Instead, it was numb. She tested the tendons. The slight weight on her lower leg could not have been anything but a cold wet cloth. A bandage? There was one around her head too, now that she thought about it. Her repertoire of strength did not permit a carefree exploration of her mild curiosity. If raising her head to look down meant that much work, she should save it for a later escape just in case.

A steady advancement of people clamored from somewhere outside. The echoes sounded as if they were inside a corridor.

Voices murmured outside of the low ceilinged room. Vowels and quiet hushes of constantans were the only branches she could hear of the conversation. One person ended most sentences with the higher pitch of a question. The second spoke curtly. His rumbling growl of a voice made the hairs on the back Orihime's arm stand up. Their voices were too low to be women. Were they soldiers? Stonework and wood did not always indicate she was underground. She could still be in the human realm. There was a chance, however slim it might be. How lucky it would be if she were in the hands of humans! Angels kept good relations with their kind. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, so to speak.

_I was already walking around in the human realm._ It wouldn't be a surprise to find herself with them. Even then, she couldn't discern any pointers just from slight catches of conversation on if the two were either man or demon. The last vision she remembered of the horned demon left an uneasy taste in her mouth. Who knows how long she had been out? She wasn't even sure of the date. Orihime could all but likely be in hell already. An absence of windows in a room was a good indicator she was underground. Demons were flawless stonemasons. They had no trouble reaching down miles through the earth's crust. No matter how painful the alternative, any idea of an escape was ludicrous.

The interview outside dissipated into a dismissing quietness. One pair of heavy feet took their leave down a hollow corridor. The other, significantly lighter, strode closer to her room.

What should she do? What could she do? She couldn't move in this condition, much less fight! Her mouth worked but Tatsuki-chan said that often got her into more trouble more often than her clumsy feet…

A thick and rusty latch clacked outside. The solid wooden door swung inward on squeaky hinges. _If it's a demon, I'll accept it. I have to prepare for it, and submit to the fact that this person might be ten times stronger than I am._ Like a child caught staying up too late, Orihime shut her eyes. She breathed slow, deep breaths. Her chest rose and fell with tiny shivers of suppressed adrenaline. With a face turned towards the wall, she couldn't even study this stranger or guard from the slits between her eyelashes. He probably wouldn't have even been able to tell if her eyes were open or not. All she presented him with was the back of her head. He better not have seen her so tense. She was supposed to be relaxed in the emptiness of unconsciousness.

_Sounds, smells…concentrate on those things. _

His lithe footsteps did not seem heavy enough to crack the floor. His footsteps were so silent; he could have been barefoot for all the noise he made.

A grating of wood dragging over cobblestone erupted beside her. She flinched despite her efforts to façade sleep. Did he see that? Did he notice?

The little angel was blind to the bustling movement behind her, but it had the duty and prevalence of a chore being prepared. Furniture moved, some type of plate or cup clattered, and water sloshed.

Without warning, three fingers touched Orihime's arm with so little pressure, it was only by body heat alone that she was able to detect their presence. Those fingers evolved into a hand that wrapped around her arm below the shoulder. The second cupped her jaw. Being so close to her nose, she could determine a musky, manly smell. His calloused hand spanned most of her face. He kept in mind to avoid covering her airway passages. The man turned her over. The ropes beneath the padded mattress squeaked.

_What's he doing what's he doing what's he doing what's he doing—_

Orihime opened her eyes. Well, squinted to be exact.

A dark figure wrung beads of a cloth's perspiration into a bucket. A heavy tweed mantle covered the majority of his body. Long, loose sleeves rolled up to the elbows revealed sinewy arms. A dark hood enveloped his face. A plain cord tied his trunk. She recognized his attire was of that of a monk's. Which meant that not only was she in the care of humans, she was in a place of sanctuary! How in the world had these people pulled off such a monstrous feat as overcoming a demon?

"Oi!" the monk jolted. Oops, she has gone from an incognito glance to a flat out stare. The monk leveled himself on the tipsy stool.

"U-um..." she began.

But before she could say anything else, the holy man interjected: "How are you feeling?" The hood eclipsed so much of his face that only his mouth was visible.

"Okay," she murmured.

"Just okay?"

"Hmmm."

"Tired?"

"Kinda."

A beat of silence passed. Orihime stared into what little she could make of the monk's face. A thin sheen of nervous sweat shimmered on what little skin there was available to the light.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" he asked.

"I'm just a little sore."

"Oh."

Silence. The flame across the room kept lit with such faint motion it could have been mistaken for a yellow slip of paper.

"Um, well, may I…" the monk gestured with a bit of fabric in his hand.

Cloth? What was that for?

He must have read the transparency of confusion in her expression. He elaborated that he just wanted to change her bandages.

"Oh! That's okay, you don't have to!" she said, face reddening. If he was going to change her bandages, then would that mean he had been the one to put them on her in the first place? Steam was practically gushing out of her ears.

"Would you rather die of infection?"

Going through the same motions a new parent handles a baby, he gingerly lifted her head from its base. He unwound the settled bandages from her brow. A cloth soaked with cold water doused her forehead. The ice of it made her want to curl her toes into the bedspread, had she the strength to do so.

"What happened? Where is the demon?" the angel asked. Burn marks covered his hand. Injuries from a fight?

The holy man followed her gaze. He tucked his sleeve around the area of concern. The man bunched his fist, locking the fabric in place.

"He's dead. We were able to intercept you before he escaped to hell."

"Him?"

"The demon."

"Oh."

Silence swelled a gap in their talk. Orihime nibbled on her lip. If she was in the presence of a monk, then she was in a monastery. They had lent her a spare bedroom to occupy. And not only had they given her protection and a place to sleep, they were treating her wounds too. And besides, how had they intercepted her? Did they swarm at once or launch attacks from the shadows? How were they able to land a hit? Did their ambush take place in the clearing of her entrapment or on the way to hell?

"Did anyone get hurt?" she asked.

The tall man shook his head. Something about the monk's disposition told Orihime that he was not much of a talker. She just had one more to ask.

Orihime's rosy lips fluttered. "I, um...I can't really...why can't I move?"

The monk answered in a regrettable monotone. "There were paralyzing toxins in the cord you got tangled up in. They entered your body through the skin of your ankle," he said heavily.

The angel fidgeted.

The monk added, "They usually only last a few hours. You'll be able to move around as freely as you like after that."

He patted flakes of dirt and blood from the elastic skin, careful not to break set gashes. When he wound a second strip of linen around her head, he made it only just tight enough not to slip.

"Um…"

"Yes?" the monk said.

"Nothing, never mind."

Orihime watched him carefully from her paralyzed body. There wasn't much else to do but study his motions. And she did not want to busy him with her thoughts. His hands did not shake nor did his mouth grimace in reaction to the sight or smell of wounded flesh. This man was used to the destruction war left behind. Humans, while neither demon nor angel, were still involved in this ongoing fight. They were the both the bridge and the battleground between the supernatural societies. Mostly because of the resources humans provided. They also lived literally in the middle between the underground and the sky above. And worse of all, they were powerless to defend themselves against these forces.

The monk tied the last knot. He nodded his approval at the finished result. He leaned to the side and started to pack away the instruments of his therapy.

The monk replaced the bucket at wraps atop a bedside table. He rinsed his hands in a small platter, and then dried with a cloth. He dragged the stool closer to her bedside with a sharp screech. The nameless monk folded his arms over his broad chest.

"I didn't expect you to be awake this early, so I was planning to wait a few hours. Yet, I think I'll get to it now." His voice was husky and deep.

"G-get to what?" her lips formed.

"Questions," he said.

Orihime deflated a little inside. "I'm sorry. I don't know how much help I'll be. I barely remember anything that happened," she confessed.

On the contrary, his stern mouth softened a bit. He exhaled what could have been mistaken for a sigh of outright relief.

"That so?" he murmured. He asked her if she felt strong enough to continue the rest of his inquiries. He could wait until later if she wanted to rest first. It was not a good idea for her to overexert herself with toxins still mixed in her blood.

Orihime was definitely fatigued. She could feel the tiredness in her hollow bones. Yet…she wanted to help him. If he had saved her, the least she could do was assist him in this tiny matter. She proclaimed that her condition (while stationary) was fine. The monk insisted she first start with her arival in the human world. And so the little angel began with her first step into the autumn touched forest. She flipped through her memories: the heated coil around her ankle, the pain in her wings, electrical shocks, the demon emerging from the undergrowth, and then her subsequent dismissal from consciousness. She talked slowly and tried her best to summarize, rather than ramble. The man leaned forward in his seat at the part about the demon.

"Describe the demon," he said, or rather commanded.

"I only saw a glimpse of the demon."

"But you saw him."

"...Yes," Orihime hesitated. His voice took on an unexpectedly sharp tone. Of course she saw the demon, who wouldn't notice him approaching like the reaper?

"What did he look like?" the monk asked.

Orhime stared at him with auburn eyes. Was he not the one who had saved her from the demon in the first place?

"Do you think you, um, got the wrong demon?" she asked, hoping for a certain answer.

"No, he was carrying you in his arms."

"Then why—"

"We just want to be sure of his rank. Depending on how high of a rank he was, we can get a clearer picture of what type of retaliation to expect."

Orihime's voice did not tremble. She asked him to repeat himself, to which he did.

"His friends will come?"

"Yes, once they notice an unexplained disappearance in their ranks, they'll send a scout. If that demon finds evidence of a killing, they'll send a militia to take revenge. The more prestigious the demon slayed, the larger group of loyalists," the robed monk explained.

Orihime bit her lip. She didn't realize how tightly knit the demon community was. And worse, she unknowingly put the very men who saved her in danger! If she hadn't gone out for a stupid walk…

"How are demons' ranks shown?"

"It depends. Sometimes we have physical descriptions of spies or decorated warriors. The powerful ones have masks. Rank sometimes is not outwardly shown because it is generally assumed that 'one should know who they are talking to'," he quoted, but from what text Orhime had no idea. The monk added, "We got your demon from a distance so we did not get a chance to see if he even had a mask before he deteriorated."

"Okay, um… he _did_ have a mask. It was bone white with two red stripes own each side of the face," Orhime said. The girl strained to move even a single finger. For all her power she could only clench her hand. But that was it. It would have been so much easier to describe the simple design of the demon's mask if she could draw it in the air.

"And of his form?"

"He was tall. While he was slim, you could easily tell he was muscular. He wore all black in a—shihakusho is it?—except for a white tie around his waist," she described. She decided against comparing the monk's stature to the demon's. While they were strikingly similar in build, she did not want to accidentally insult him.

"What of his face? Did you see it?" he pressed.

"Y-you mean the mask—"

"No, the face beneath the mask."

Orihime replied, "No."

The monk reached inside his hood and rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Any other distinguishing features?" He asked.

Orihime contemplated within her paralyzed body. The stonework of the ceiling jumped with every dance of candlelight.

"Hmm, yes. He had the most amazing hair. It was bright orange like the autumn leaves. Or maybe fire?" she said.

The man tugged the lip of his hood further over his shadowed face.

Orihime did not add on how she wanted to comb her hand through every last beautiful orange tendril of the demon's hair. Every girl was entitled to her own piece of blush-worthy privacy. Would the monk notice her distraction? It did not seem so. He too was absorbed in his own world of quiet concentration.

Finally he said, "I suggest that you fly away as soon as you are able," he said.

"What? B-but why?" she whispered.

"Because by your description, it sounds like he was actually a high class demon. There will an uprising soon, make no mistake about it."

"Huh?!" she gasped. Orhime tried to sit up, but the only function she was able to pull off was a slight rise of her chest.

The nameless and faceless monk dipped his head in confusion. He asked why she was struggling. She needed to _rest_, for god's sake.

Was there really time for rest? With so many demons to be coming? Paralyzed, naked of weapons, and weak with poison, the angel proclaimed she wanted to stay to defend those who saved had her. She just needed a day to heal first, that's all.

"Are you serious?" he asked quietly.

She let her eyes convey the truth.

His lips parted in incredulous shock. The monk sat with such stillness that the angel wondered if he had transformed into a piece of art.

He closed them again, and then cleared his throat.

While the top hemisphere of his face was shrouded in impenetrable obscurity, she could feel his veiled eyes calculating her. Once his analysis was complete, he began to sweep around the room in a heavy footed pace. The stiff weaving of his robes rustled like an unfurled flag. He stalked an invisible circle on the floor, over and over again. Every so often, he would stop, raise a hand as if to pronounce an idea, pause, replace the hand at his side, and resume his ponderous stride.

"How much experience do you have with fighting demons?" he asked.

"Only from earlier today," she admitted from her position on the sickbed.

The holy man registered that for a moment_. Here it comes. Here comes the snarky remark about my inadequacy…_

Instead, he said, "Okay…how about this? If you truly wanted to protect the monastery, then you need to fly back to heaven."

"But—" she began. The man held up a gesture for silence. She complied.

"Your being here is proof enough that the Order was involved in your rescue. Had you been a hulking warrior of an angel, then a scout could figure out that you had escaped the trap and killed the demon on your own. Don't misunderstand— you _are_ strong. But any scout could see that in your poisoned state, you would be no match for even a low class demon. It would only make sense to think that after you got your revenge, you would just fly away.

"No one can touch you in heaven. This is not you running away, it is just bringing the target of a future demon attack farther away from those you want to protect." He looked up and waited for her decision.

Orihime pursed her lips. His logic was sound.

"Alright," she said. "I'll leave as soon I can fly again."

He seemed glad to hear this.

Orihime nibbled on her lip. "May I ask another question?" she said timidly.

His lips morphed into a reserved smile. "Of course."

"What's your name?" she asked.

The monk froze. "It's…err…private."

Okay, every religion had their customs. She wouldn't pressure him.

"My name is Orihime Inoue," she said, "You may call me by my name, but, um, only if you feel comfortable with that!"

"Inoue." The man repeated it slowly like he was testing how it tasted.

Without really meaning to, she closed her eyes and yawned.

"Are you tired, Inoue?" he said, taking care to pronounce her name.

Her eyes shot open. "S-sorry!" she said.

"Don't apologize for something you can't help," he said.

"But I don't mean to be rude," Orihime explained.

He growled and said, "I told you, it's alright. And besides, I'm done so I don't have to stay any longer."

"O-oh…"

"Remember, you'll be able to walk at first, but it will be a few days before you can fly. You wouldn't want to fly a hundred feet up only to run out of strength."

Orihime's sore wing twitched. Yes, falling was definitely a bad thing. But his advice sounded final in a way. It was the kind one might present to a loved one as they drifted apart.

"Will I not see you in the next few days?" she inquired.

Her friend seemed to be at a loss for words. "Err…no."

"Why?"

He turned away. The fold of his hood showed a unique angle where she could see the firm blade of his nose.

"I'm going away. To another monastery. It's just…they've requested I help them," he said.

Another wish for privacy. Orihime was willing to grant her savior that much.

"You must have a lot to prepare for your journey, then," she said. He nodded and stood, looking almost relieved for the polite dismissal.

Before he left, she told him how she felt. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for finding me when you did."

A warm palm gently patted the crown of her head.

"Just rest up, alright?" his whisper cradled her as she slipped into soothing darkness.

…

The huge iron hinges binding the door to the wall groaned with age. The door closed heavily into the frame. The robed man touched the rusty bolt as if thinking about whether to slide it. No, it wasn't needed. The angel was safe here. The other monks would make sure no one touched her. The hooded figure fixed his grip on the bucket of supplies and turned. His first aim was to exit the way he came in. Instead, he approached something he had never thought to inspect before.

A single stained-glass window lit up a private confessional corner. He had passed it dozens of times before without actually _looking_ at it. It was the sole light in the grey array of this store hall. The window spayed fragmented colors across those who stood in its presence. Blue, green, red, and white tinted his burlap robes. It was a beautiful picture—a white clad angel locked in bloody battle with a scaly skinned demon. Enlarged fangs grew from the corners of the demon's mouth and glinted white. The man could almost see the saliva dripping from the depicted monster's mouth. Neither enemy moved. Both would be frozen for eternity.

Standing before the decorated presence, the man took a break from the craziness his world had become. This moment of silence was his and his alone. No doubt the _only_ one he would be getting in a while. He allowed himself to breathe air that was not permeated by an angelic scent. Or so he thought until he realized his very skin seemed to be saturated with it. It was as if _she_ was standing right in front of him. To be fair, the eyes of the stained-glass angel were a similar color to that of Inoue's.

He tucked his thumb into the hood and let it pool behind his back. Multi-colored light checkered the nameless man's face. His features illuminated in the modest light. Dust on the window mellowed some of the colors, but even then, they were not vibrant enough to mask the orange color of his hair.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

Author's note:

Yes, I am still alive! Yes, I will be continuing this story! Yes, I am sorry I am lazy and have had no inspiration lately. I have a bunch of fun plans for this story, so don't worry! Everyone's comments are so nice, thank you! I also had trouble trying to upload this. When Ifirst uploaded it this morning, it was riddled with typos. I've fixed most of themnow. Hopefully...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Miles beneath the earth, a series of torches brightened a dim hallway. Spires of flames licked black scorch marks onto the stone above. A person entered the windless corridor and inspired a new gust. He stalked through the hall in such a fury that the fires almost died. By the time they regained their posture, another tunnel entry had swallowed the demon.

While, the tunnel systems were cramped towards the surface, their girth widened with every downwards mile. Soon he was able to stride along without bowing his head. The taller he was able to stand, the narrower his eyes and tighter his fists became. Mellowed curses under his breath whispered off walls in echoes. The steady stream of profanity sounded like an overlap between a vile incantation and a sadistic promise to whoever he was talking about. The severity of his anger influenced shadowy forms at tunnel intersections to give him space. They slunk back as he passed, almost blending into the rock formation. When the threat of the orange haired demon had gone by, the lesser demons peaked around corners to study him. Paying no heed to their morbidly curious stares, Ichigo strode on. He probably sounded like death itself, what with the rattling of yards of coiling chains he gripped. They clanged a tune announcing his approach to the one who would receive the full blunt of his anger.

"_Goddamn lying, sadistic, monstrous, mother—"_

He finally arrived at a high arched chamber whose tiled walls glistened with shined obsidian. The deformed reflections cast him in angles. They refracted over each other until it looked as if there was a thousand more Ichigo's, each with the same mission of murderous intent. The room itself was empty spare for just three details. A huge door, one whose span nearly, swallowed the entirely of the farthest wall, was flanked by two heavyset guardians. The portal's height was close to its equally astonishing width. Any chance of opening the monstrous barrier was one that required either correct equipment or amazing stamina. Its purpose was not defense, so much as it was to intimidate. Such flashy luxury in such an already secure part of the Hell was preposterous. Where were such equal reinforcements to the surface forts that needed it most?

The guards on either side of the door straightened when Ichigo approached. Ichigo barely noticed them until an embossed spear suddenly prodded his neck. He stopped in his tracks. The coil of chains pealed as they swung with the change of momentum.

Ichigo glared to his right. The overzealous guard snarled at him with a sharp-toothed under bite.

"Have you an appointment with our lord?" he growled.

Ichigo didn't say anything. The guard was new. Their 'lord' must have toyed the last one to an unrecoverable condition. Again. While the oversized guard was more than a head taller than Ichigo, only one of them knew who was truly the superior in this situation. Ichigo turned slightly and started to step in the bravado-drenched guard's direction. The other guard, however, made frantic gestures of "WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU MORON?" and other signs to motion to his partner to inform him about who he was dealing with. Unintelligent Guard #1 dropped his spear to his side.

"S-sorry 'bout that. Just procedure…"

Ichigo only had the patience to ignore the pathetic demon. He pushed past the two before they could gather any more interfering composure. Usually Ichigo stood on the side of petty ceremony and allowed the guards to snailishly move the door. Not today. With a swipe of his hand, the orange haired demon swiped aside the hallway-thick entry aside. The opening created a straight tunnel from which a ray of clear light pooled around him. The two formal guards stood openmouthed at the display.

Ichigo wasted no time in vanishing into the throne room. . Ichigo resisted blinking in the brightness lit from above. As soon as he was beyond the gap provided by the portcullis, the guards repositioned the stone slab. _What good little boys_, he thought bitterly.

Inside, the throne room spanned a distance of almost an entire small town. The cathedral ceiling was dark with its ridiculous height. A forest of sturdy pale green pillars flanked all sides. Further darkness lay beyond them. His attention shifted to the centerpiece of the room. The familiar man, who sat atop his polished throne, smiled a friendly greeting.

"Back so soon, Ichigo?" he murmured in sickeningly sweet curiosity.

Ichigo's teeth gritted together.

"Aizen," he hissed.

…

"Is that any way your address your superior?" the demon chided kindly. Aizen's greeting still echoed against the distant walls.

Ichigo's straw weaved sandals clapped never-ending echoes. He approached the foul demon no further than he had to. Any closer than the center of the chamber and he might vomit. Ichigo didn't really want to be here. But he had to. The younger demon dipped his shoulder. A coil of broken wires and dirty mechanical equipment slid down his arm. Lines of soil striped his sleeve. Aizen's eyes brightened with recognition.

"An empty trap?" Aizen leaned forward and cradled his head in his hand. "I take it your mission was too difficult?"

Before either could blink, the mechanism disappeared with a blur of motion. A corner of stone throne above Aizen's head disintegrated with the impact. Incubated sparks burst in an array of white light. Amid the cloud of powdered debris, sparks rained down on the demon lord's head like glowing petals. Aizen did not flinch. He merely tilted his head in interest.

"Fuck you," Ichigo responded.

"One should not express his views with profanity. It just makes your argument all the more—"

"I'm not having a goddamn argument, I came here because I just wanted to know something," Ichigo growled. The sharp canine among his teeth glimmered with the resolve to bite.

"Proceed," Aizen insisted generously. The pressing matter of broken state property could wait.

"All I want to know," he continued slowly, "Is how long you waited after the alarm went off before you gave me the okay to go up to the surface."

Aizen thought back. "I would estimate early this morning. The specifics of unnecessary details often elude me."

Ichigo's breath escaped him. The demon ran a hand through his hair as he tried to process the ridiculous information. He refused to close his eyes. He knew whose screaming face would appear in his mind.

Ichigo suddenly remembered he was in the spotlight of attention. He returned a furious gaze to Aizen's cold and calculating position from above.

Aizen smiled kindly. "What' wrong? After your 'accident', I assumed you would want an easy chore to make yourself useful. I simply let it exhaust itself before allowing you to deal with it. Yet, after all the consideration I put into helping you, it seems as if you're…_dissatisfied_." The older man's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

Ichigo's teeth drew a spot of blood from his lip. It took him a second to recognize what 'it' the brown haired demon lord referred to. Most of what this powerful being said was completely alien to common sense.

"You knew you caught a civilian. You fucking _knew_. There was no way you couldn't detect her Reiatsu with Granz's equipment," Ichigo said. "She wasn't strong enough to survive more in an hour in that trap."

"Oh?" Aizen commented.

"She died," Ichigo spat.

"Countless angels have died in our war. Why should this one be any different?" Aizen sneered, already knowing the answer god damn him.

"You're our leader! It's your duty to protect the people you represent! The alliance is in sight and you go and MURDER A CIVILAN! Bringing the angels' wrath is just another way to get our people killed." If Ichigo could spit venom he would poison the world a thousand times over. A gleam of sweat appeared on his brow.

"It was not as if I struck it down myself. If anything, it is its own fault for being so weak. Casualties are to be expected in times of war. It is difficult to step on ants without crushing them," the powerful being leaned back in his chair and smirked at the damage done to his vessel.

"_She_," Ichigo corrected from his floored position. "And how dare you say you had no hand in killing her. She had been lying there, being electrocuted for _hours_, until you gave the order for me to bring her back."

"I see no body," Aizen calmly remarked.

"I cremated her," Ichigo said.

Aizen tapped his nails on the elaborate arm rest. Common practice dictated that enemy bodies be donated to the dissection labs. The demon lord's misplaced disapproval was oddly satisfying.

"I appreciate your…honesty," the demon said coolly. "But it does not excuse your failure of performing your duty. You've returned empty handed, and worse, destroyed my property," the brown haired demon said. His signature lock of hair fell slanted over malicious eyes.

Ichigo sneered. "You'll just have to send a messenger about my punishment. I'm finished here."

The orange haired man removed himself from the grand room before any further conversation could be enacted. He refused to look at anyone as he trekked through familiar streets and passageways. It was not until he passed through the threshold of his home that he realized the object he clasped in the sleeve of his shihakusho was a pure white feather.

…

Hello! I apologize for my story's tardiness. It is definitely not dead! And I know that Ichigo is acting all confusing. Will explain why in the next chapter.


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